


Black Sands

by Anonymous



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Animal Attack, Animal Death, Cultural Differences, Fluff, Mechpreg, Nomad AU, Slow Burn, Sparkling!Optimus Prime, survivalist au, tribal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24828703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ultra Magnus was ready for a change - and if he had to go hunting with the nomads to find that change, by Primus he would...
Relationships: Megatron/Ultra Magnus, background Breakdown/Knock Out
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65
Collections: anonymous





	1. Never Gonna Come Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultra Magnus is the leading dignitary of Iacon, Polyhex, and Praxus, and damn does he hate it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for scenes of mechanimals attacking people and getting attacked and killed back, if you dont want to read that kind of stuff then steer clear

Ultra vented. The exhale came out warm and muggy, same as it had for the past couple of cycles - not that he was really complaining. The senate originally planned for him to make his commute to Iacon's sister city on a ritzy shuttle. There would have been three layover areas for the shuttle and escort crew to rest at before they reached their final destination in the center of Polyhex. Thankfully, as Magnus, Ultra had been able to supersede the order and simply stated that he would take a caravan straight across the Tarnian Desert. The senate worked up quite a fuss about Ultra's decision, but ultimately, conceded. The trip would be much faster, and the low-key transport would allow Ultra to travel without the threat of assassination attempts being made by political rivals.

Ultra sighed at the thought. As Magnus, he was able to make a lot of big changes; changes he hoped would better Cybertron as a whole. Of course, making those changes created a lot of unhappy nobles. Ultra and the Iaconian senate had been fielding excessive attempts on his life since the moment he became Magnus. It was nothing that Ultra couldn't handle, but at times it did get to be a bit much. Not that he enjoyed being nearly murdered. It was just part of the job. Although, a recent complication had arose that changed Ultra’s stance on the whole thing…

The “complication” was Optimus. Ultra’s soon-to-be creation. With such an important spark in the grinder, Ultra had been contemplating the importance of his political position. Under the title of Magnus, he already completed a good amount of work – reforming military readiness standards, cutting expenses to unnecessary branches in the Cybertronian Standard Government, and flooding the educational board with new sponsorships and budget slips. Ultra had a solid run, so maybe he was due a break to lay low and take care of his family…

Ultra sighed and held a hand over his swelled middle.

Then all chaos broke loose.

The caravan lurched and stopped abruptly. Ultra hurried to stand, then grabbed his hammer from where it fell. Using the hammer’s signature electrical abilities would hurt the sparkling, but Ultra controlled it well enough to hold back the charge that threatened to rise. A cacophony of noise erupted outside and Ultra threw back the cloth that shielded the inside of the caravan from the sand and grit of the outside desert. Ultra barely had time to squint his optics into the blinding light outside when he heard the first bay. Wirewolves.

Caravan guards raced past Ultra. His own caravan had crashed into the back of the one in front of it, and that one had done the same with the caravan before _that_. Squinting farther down, Ultra saw the zaphorses run wild as wirewolves nipped their pedes. Guards raised their blasters and fired off warning shots – trying desperately not to hit the zaphorses or other guards. More concerningly, the wirewolves were turning towards the guards; hungry for prey more stationary than the zaphorses.

A dismayed gasp corralled Ultra’s attention to the caravan at the front of the line. A wirewolf had nosed its helm inside the caravan, where more traveling dignitaries and merchants sat huddled inside. A veritable buffet fit for a wirewolf.

With a growl, Ultra sprang out of the caravan and to the front of the line. His servo was heavy on the hammer. He swung freely – smashing the flanks and muzzles of wirewolves as he ran past. More alarmed noises came from the front caravan as the wirewolf leapt inside. Like a fire blazing right after the oil, Ultra jumped into the frontal caravan, hammer raised.

A merchant screamed as the wirewolf snapped its jaws closed on his mesh coverings. With no way to slip out of the cloth, the merchant squeezed his optics shut and threw up his arms to shield his face and neck from the attack the wirewolf was bound to unleash upon him. Not on Ultra’s watch. With a shout, he brought forth his other hand and punched the wirewolf right across the helm.

The wirewolf was thrown to the side from the force of the hit. Ultra grabbed a fistful of the mechanimal’s plating and _tossed_ it out the back of the caravan. The wirewolf slammed into the sand. Still dazed, it got up, eager to get away. Magnus gave a warning growl after the wirewolf as the denizens of the cart cheered.

Then, unbidden, more howling cut through the scree of noise. It wasn’t the call of a wirewolf. Ultra looked up at the sandy hill on the other side of the caravan line in trepidation.

Banded mechs – purple, black, and grey all rushed down one of the sandy dunes with weapons drawn. Ultra barely had time to raise his hammer again before the nomads barreled into the wirewolves. Ah, good. A hunting party, not raiders.

Ultra’s peripheral caught sight of another caravan. The zaphorse at the front, unable to break free of its own binds, ran from a group of four wirewolves down another nearby dune. Scrap.

Once again unable to stop the occupational hazard which was his own heroism, Ultra ran after the caravan. His engine gunned. The rays of the twin suns above him were scorching hot. Ultra channeled his inner cube-ball player and rammed his shoulder guard right into one of the wirewolves as he caught up. The pained whimper caught the attention of the other wirewolves. One turned on its pedes and dove down to snap at Ultra’s ankles. He vaulted over it and caught up to the caravan.

Ultra pulled himself up into the back of the cart and raced tot he front. He pulled open the privacy shutters right in time for one of the wirewolves to jump up onto the zaphorse – frightening the mechanimal and causing it to finally stumble. The wagon careened as the zap horse ripped free from the binds that tied it to the caravan and lurched as it ran over the poor thing.

Ultra cursed sharply and dove back out of the cart now that it wasn’t in danger of running off to the far horizon. The zaphorse kicked out at the wirewolves, apparently only affected by its position on its side on the ground instead of its previous encounter of being ran over.

With little more preamble, Ultra hollered, scaring the wirewolves a couple steps away from the zaphorse. Then, he swung in a wide arc – hitting one wirewolf and forcing the other two to scurry back a couple more steps to avoid the hit. With one wirewolf stunned and the others as far as Ultra could get them, his servos shot down into the sand and wrapped around the lead on the zaphorse’s muzzle. It whinnied encouragingly and Ultra guided its head up – the mechanimal, now righted, quickly got back onto its legs and turned on the wirewolves itself. One attempted to get closer as the zaphorse stood, and now in prime position, the zaphorse bucked and busted the wirewolf right in the snout. It gave a pained yip and fled.

The other two wirewolves circled Ultra. He raised the hammer threateningly, but couldn’t get a good stance. One of Ultra’s servos was clutching his hammer, and the other was now tangled in the lead. Ultra adjusted again but the zaphorse tugged, its skittish nature called for it to run despite its earlier defensive actions. The zaphorse tugged, and Ultra half fell.

The wirewolves shot forward.

Ultra’s optics widened. Unable to stand in time, he clenched his optics shut and curled over himself with raising his hammer arm to take the vicious bites sure to come.

A thud; then a yowl. Ultra’s helm shot back up in time to see one of the wirewolves fall sideways. Its hind leg had been cut off clean from the side, and a mech now stood between Ultra and the last wirewolf. The mech – grey like a corpse and as large as Ultra himself – growled his engine and held aloft twin blades. The wirewolf was hungry, but not stupid. It gave a growl back, then turned and ran.

Ultra stared, bemused but grateful, as the mech murmured. It sounded like a prayer. The mech holstered one sword and brought the other up to rest atop the downed wirewolf’s helm. He gave a merciful jab down, right into its cranial casing, and the wirewolf slowly went grey.

With a true comparison, Ultra now saw the mech’s armor wasn’t as deathly as he believed. Compared to the dull sheen on the wirewolf, the mech seemed to glow silver, like mercury lapping at the shore of a lake. The mech had other tasteful accents of black and deep red. The colors complimented the mechs optics. His optics. Oh.

Ultra fought a blush. How long had he been staring at the nomad? Thankfully the mech didn’t look insulted. He seemed deeply confused, and very gingerly helped Ultra to his pedes, distangled him from the lead, and took a healthy step away. Ultra rather appreciated that last gesture – if the council had forced him to go with the primal vanguard, there would be no shortage of invasive health checks and puttering and concerned poking and prodding.

Ultra nodded at the mech, “Thank you.”

The mech looked down at Ultra “… It was no problem...”

The mech silently stared. Ultra realized the mech wasn’t meeting his optics. Ultra’s brow ridges furrowed and he hastily looked down at himself.

Ultra was so busy looking for some sort of injury or inappropriate scuff that he blanked on one very important fact for a moment longer than he needed to.

Ultra was clearly, visibly, showingly, _pregnant_.

Ah.

Yes, that _would_ be cause for concern wouldn’t it?

Ultra couldn’t contain his flush that time, and looked back up at the mech, embarrassed. He must have looked like a loon – chasing after wirewolves while attached by the servo to a spooked zaphorse. The council would be rolling if they ever heard about Ultra’s little stunt. He started to get a helmache. Ultra could just imagine all the horrible rep he would have to field; the scathing articles detailing his qualifications as Magnus – or as a responsible carrier. With all the other allegations that came with Optimus’ ignition, Ultra’s decision to chase that caravan into the desert might just lead him into worse trouble than the assassins…

Ultra scowled to himself while the other mech shook himself out of the confusion. The mech cleared his intake and Ultra looked up at him once more.

The mech brought a hand up to his chest plates. “Megatron. Of Tarn.”

Made sense. They were in the Tarnian Desert. Megatron was a nomad of Tarn. He was Megatron of Tarn.

Ultra nodded and held out a servo, “Ultra. Magnus of the Standard Conglomerate of Cybertron. I hail from the city of Iacon.”

Megatron’s optics were fixated on Ultra’s servo. He seemed to deliberate with himself for a nanoklik, then took Ultra’s servo in his own, flipped it over, and rested his own servo on top. Ultra watched, fascinated, as Megatron’s servo slid slowly, the tips of his servos tracing a straight line from the bottom of Ultra’s palm all the way down to his own servo tips. Megatron then retracted his servo entirely and held it at his side.

Ultra’s own servo swung down to hang limply at his side. He reset his optics. Again.

Ultra… Had a bad feeling that gesture meant something important… However, for all his dealings with the nightmare that was the political scene of Iacon, Polyhex, and Praxus, he never read detailed scriptures on the nomadic tribes of Tarn, Kaon and Vos. There were so many tribes, and so many bloodlines and cultural ups and downs between them that it seemed like a waste. While many nomadic tribes did trades with traveling merchants and sectors on the outskirts of citystates, their trades were niche and insignificant. They didn’t “buy bulk” and their trades – while unique – were not what the council would have called an endowment worth making an alliance for. Thus, Ultra never had to learn about anything that wouldn’t lead to straight-up bloodshed from the tribes.

Ultra lamented his ignorance as Megatron set his servo on Ultra’s shoulder guard to steer him back towards the line of caravans. Thankfully, it seemed like most of the commotion calmed down. Several more grayed out wirewolf husks littered the ground, but the other nomads were hefting up the frames into their own cart. Several nomads were also helping correct a wagon that tipped over, and others more haggled with the traveling merchants for some wares.

Ultra vented, relieved, until his personal guards ran over.

“Ultra Magnus, sir, are you okay!?” Sideswipe yelled. Sunstreaker, his second spark, was like smoke on his wheels. Their each had one hand on their respective blasters.

Ultra pursed his derma, “Despite what the council may believe, I’m not some frail waif doomed to be blown away in the wind. And I certainly won’t die because the local wildlife felt peckish.”

Sideswipe cringed but Sunstreaker scowled menacingly, “I’m sure the council will love hearing that once they see _that_.”

Ultra followed the line of Sunstreaker’s accusingly pointed servo. There, on his ankle, was a shallow gash where one of the wirewolves managed to bite him. He must not have noticed because the fangs simply scraped off his armor instead of sinking into his cables.

Ultra tutted to himself. It wasn’t the worst mistake he could have made, but the repair would take time and energy that was supposed to be going to Optimus. In his helm he could hear Red Alerts frantic howling and scolding about nanite production and rest. He shivered.

Megatron also seemed perturbed by the gash and knelt down. He put one hand on Ultra’s thigh to steady him and the other lifted Ultra’s pede from the sand. Ultra’s brow ridges rose as Megatron took out a tube as small as a stylus nib and bit off one end. “Hold still,” was the only warning given before he pinched the tube between his fingers and let the gel inside smear over the wound. Ultra’s leg spasmed, but otherwise didn’t move. Megatron rubbed the gel carefully into the wound, and the leg was released.

Ultra pivoted his ankle and felt a slight numbing sensation. Medical nanites. Ultra shot another confused look at Megatron – it likely wasn’t easy getting such good quality medical grade this far into the desert, why use it on Ultra? Of course, the question was only asked in Ultra’s helm. Outwardly, he studied the cut, put his gaze back on Megatron, and said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Megatron smirked and murmured back, “Of course.” He clapped Ultra on the shoulder, then strode into the fray of talking, haggling mechs.

Ultra blinked after the mech. Megatron was oddly captivating. Kind as well. Megatron himself began to help carry crates back to the carts and tie the zaphorses back to the front of caravans and haggle with merchants. All the while, his smoldering gaze would dart over to Ultra. Usually Ultra would be nervous about the attention, but there was something about Megatron’s optics. The intentions in those optics were pure. Megatron didn’t have much to gain from helping Ultra or his caravan – Ultra wasn’t even in charge of the expedition! Yet Megatron continued to look after Ultra, and even traded a wicked looking dagger for more medical grade nanites and energon from one of the merchants.

There was a snicker behind Ultra. He squinted back at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, now both had dirt-eating grins on their faces. “Oh, so it’s like _that_ , huh?” Sideswipe chuckled, elbowing his second spark while Sunstreaker elbowed him back enthusiastically.

Ultra’s optics narrowed further as he turned and crossed his arms at the both of them, “What do you mean?”

“You,” Sunstreaker said shortly.

“You and Big, Bad And Gray over there!” Sideswipe added, hanging off Sunstreaker. “We saw the way he was handling you! What’d you do to get on his good side like that?”

Ultra barely opened his intake when Sunstreaker blurted, “It’d be hard _not_ to when you’re a mech like Magnus, Sides! The weapon, the carrying, what’s not to want?”

Ultra gaped as the two of them laughed to each other. “What are you talking about?”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker looked at each other a moment. They looked back at Ultra.

“Us being here wasn’t a coincidence, Mags,” Sideswipe offered, slowly. “Me an’ Sunny got assigned to this gig because we grew up in the tribes.” Well that was news. Sideswipe scoffed at Ultra’s look and continued, “Yeah, yeah, we don’t ‘look’ it – we get that a lot -”

“But growing up in the tribe teaches you things,” Sunstreaker cut in.

“Yeah, it teaches you things,” Sideswipe affirmed, “Community is really important. Carriers are really important.”

“Taking care of your tribe and your family is your first priority. Always.”

Sideswipe nodded, “Even if you have no skill, if you have nothing to contribute, just work in the tribe’s best interests and you’ll do good.”

“That mech is putting a claim on you,” Sunstreaker inclined his helm over to Megatron, “He’s letting the others know that you and him are...” Sunstreaker looked to Sideswipe.

Sideswipe shrugged, “All the signs say that he’s courting you. He expressed interest in you and you didn’t reject it – and now he’s making sure everyone else knows it too by keeping his optic on you. He’s even buying you gifts _right now_.”

Ultra’s optics darted to Megatron. He was haggling for yet another cube of high grade medical energon. Oh. Oh no. “That’s... Going to be for me?”

“Yep,” Sideswipe popped the ‘p’. “He’s courting a _carrier_. He’d be some kind of idiot to give you advances but then not help you carry to term. If you and him advance to the bonding stage, all your sparklings become his and the tribe’s.”

“And letting the sparkling die from neglect is as good as killing it himself,” Sunstreaker adds.

The two looked serious, but Ultra still had to ask. “… Are you being serious?”

“So serious that it might ruin our rep, Mags,” Sideswipe smiled sharply. He dropped the smile and whispered, “Listen, if it's really not serious, you can’t be stringing this guy around - he’s gonna be pissed, and you’re not gonna be carrying forever… Once you’ve given emergence you’re free game – free to challenge, free to attack...”

“And it won’t stop at him and his tribe,” Sunstreaker leaned in close, “You mess with one tribemecha -”

“ _You mess with all of us_ ,” Sunstreaker and Sideswipe recited in eerie tandem.

Ultra couldn’t find the words. His servos tapped against his arm as he looked back up to see Megatron now browsing some weapons. Megatron caught his optic and smiled again. Ultra looked down, “How did this even happen?”

“You tell us!” Sideswipe chirped, the chilly demeanor vanishing like the lines on beach. “We weren’t around when you and Gray went after that zaphorse.”

Ultra uncrossed his arms and put one knuckle up against his chin guard. “I’m… Not quite sure. Or,” Ultra amended, “I’m not sure which part sparked the interest...”

Sunstreaker made a ‘go on’ gesture.

Ultra sighed. “The wirewolves had me cornered. I thought for sure I would be getting as good as I gave, but Megatron stepped in and -”

“Megatron!” Sideswipe yelped. “I knew I recognized that mech!”

Ultra raised a brow and Sunstreaker stepped in, “Megatron is… More nomadic than most nomads.”

“He goes around giving advice to different tribes and keeping everyone in line,” Sideswipe explains. “He’s kind of a local leader – everyone looks to him for guidance. His brother, Megazarak was the True Leader back when we were still tribemecha.”

“Something must have happened to him,” Sunstreaker mumbled.

Sideswipe rolled his optics, “Yeah, ‘something’.” Sideswipe gave Ultra a look. “Megazarak, while infinitely wise, was… Uh...”

“He was a complete dumbaft,” Sunstreaker deadpanned.

“Exactly,” Sideswipe held up a finger, “He did a lot of questionable things on the side – he was great with tactical strategy but bad at putting things into practice.”

“He meant well, but he was self-absorbed and overconfident and a hassle to work with.”

Ultra’s helm inclined slightly, “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

“We do,” Sunstreaker sighed. “It’s why we left.”

Sideswipe rubbed the back of his helm, “It’s not like we left on bad terms or anything, but we were just tired of the pitslag. Megazarak started treating us – the whole tribe – like idiots.”

“It was like nothing we said had merit anymore. Megazarak knew best, and if you thought otherwise, then tough nips!”

“Yeah it was slag!” Sideswipe exclaimed. “So we moved into the city instead.”

Sunstreaker nodded to Ultra. “Your city. Our city.”

“Iacon,” Ultra intoned. The twins nodded. “So you also knew Megatron, back then?”

Sideswipe shuffled, “Not that much. We only know what we’ve heard from the echoes of friends still in the tribes. Didn’t know Megazarak was completely out of the picture though.”

“Back on topic,” Sunstreaker snaps, “You and Megatron. He saved you from the wirewolves?”

“Er, yes,” Ultra resumed, a bit whiplashed, “He stepped in front of me and scared away one of the wirewolves, then finished off another.”

Sideswipe nodded, “Okay, then what?”

“He told me his name. I told him mine and...” Ultra paused. “I… Reached out, to clasp his hand, I read once before that tribemecha consider that friendly...”

Sunstreaker nodded. “It is.”

“Standard greeting,” Sideswipe added.

“But...” Ultra thought hard. “He did something strange...”

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked at each other. Their optics were knowing, but all they said was, “Like what?”

The glyphs were heavy on Ultra’s glossa, but he managed to get out, “He took my servo… And dragged his palm across mine.”

Sideswipe’s optics sharpened, “All the way down?”

Ultra nodded, slow, “To the tips of our servos.”

Sunstreaker blew hot air from his vents. “That was it. That was the sign of intent.”

Sideswipe started pacing, “A hand clasp on the wrist is friendly. If a tribemecha cuts your wrist when clasping your hand it would have been a sign that he felt slighted by you. But if he touches palms together… It’s...”

“It’s like welcoming someone home,” Sunstreaker breathed.

Sideswipe nodded, “It’s intimate. Amica and conjunx only. If a tribemecha puts your palms together, and pulls apart...”

“It means he’s imagining the two of you together. It’s the sign of intent, and it marks the start of the courtship,” Sunstreaker finished. “A physical claim has to be made immediately after a sign of interest, because it’s the easiest to reject .”

“No respectful tribemecha would trap their intended in a courtship they didn’t want,” Sideswipe agreed. “Was he more touchy with you after?”

Ultra swallowed dryly, “Yes. He lead me back with his servo on my shoulder guard.”

Sunstreaker shrugged exaggeratedly, “And you didn’t shuck him off. It’s as good as acceptance. Until you turn away from his physical claims, he’s going to think the courtship is on-going.”

“Ultra,” Sideswipe began, “You didn’t know. You can shrug off the next touch and there don’t have to be any hurt feelings over this. You still need to get to Polyhex for the conference.”

Polyhex. Ultra almost forgot about it.

Torn, Ultra looked up once more. Megatron was at another stall. His dark servos curled around an ingot. As if sensing Ultra’s gaze, he looked up. There was that smile again. Ultra felt his insides melt as he thought about Polyhex, and the conference, and the board of executive decisions, and the assassination attempts and the council, and… Optimus...

Ultra blinked slow. His optics burned. He kept his helm turned towards Megatron – who kept sneaking bold glances his way as he bartered over the ingots – but his glyphs were for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, “What if I don’t want to go…?”

Ultra felt their optics on him.

“What if I want to see where _this_ goes…?”

Ultra swallowed.

“What if I never want to go back…?”

Softly, they asked, “Don’t you?”

Ultra’s plating flared.

“ _Frag no._ ”

Finally, Ultra turned to look at them, and they wore matching grins. “We were hoping you’d say that...”

* * *


	2. Hop On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultra prepares himself to leave city-life...

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe swept forward, past Ultra and gestured shortly for him to follow. With an indulgent exvent, he did.

Ultra's pedes clumsily kicked at the sand as they strode closer to the sudden trading hub which were their caravans. The twins, in contrast, made barely a mark at all. Ultra mused about the verity of their history as nomadic mechs - it made sense now, all the little things they seemed to know about the desert, and their amazing survival instincts. This hadn't been Ultra's first foray into caravan travel, after all, and there had been several trips were food went scarce from the unexpected longevity of the trip. During one particularly harrowing trip, the twins had disappeared for orns, with no knowledge of when or how they left. They returned with full servos. They were completely loaded with scraps of crystals, mechanimal cables full of rich energon, and little snackable mineral deposits. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had turned around the situation so thoroughly that Ultra knew to ask for them for every trip-by-caravan from then on.

Ultra reset his optics and refocused. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker slid themselves into a bid with another merchant next to Megatron. Ultra slowly came to a stop, torn between asking Megatron what he was trading for and grilling the twins about their nomadic upbringing. Megatron chose that moment to stow his mystery ingots safely into his subspace before turning back towards Ultra. Megatron's smirk softened, and he held out an arm in invitation. Ultra felt himself flush slightly. Nevertheless, he boldly slotted himself under Megatron's waiting arm. It slipped over Ultra's shoulder guard as Megatron stepped away from the caravan line.

The other nomads began detangling from their own haggling ventures. Caravan merchants began to repack their wares, and the nomads began wrapping their own traded items. Several nomads were finishing the process of cutting and wrapping up the sharp pelts and delicious inner energon of the wirewolves. Megatron and Ultra paused upon getting to Megatron's zaphorse. It was a monster of a mechanimal, standing almost half a frame taller than Megatron, and built like a neutron star. Megatron's servo slid from Ultra's shoulder, down to his waist, and Ultra finally snapped out of his daze.

"Wait."

Megatron froze. His servos retracted from Ultra and he walked a pace forward so the two of them could face each other. "Don't worry, Galvatron is the sturdiest zaphorse on Cybertron. He will be able to take the weight of both of us, quite easily."

Ultra's spark melted a little at Megatron's consideration. "Thank you, but I don't have any doubts regarding the abilities of your zaphorse." It was true. The aptly named _Galvatron_ was quite possibly the largest, most dangerous zaphorse Ultra had ever seen. It could likely take Ultra, Megatron, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's weight all at once before staring to buckle. That wasn't the issue, however. "All my personal belongings are still in the wagon. And I have to notify one of the continuing caravan guards that I won't be completing the intended route..."

The words appeared to relieve some of Megatron's own stress, and he smiled indulgently at Ultra. "By all means, then."

Megatron's servo once more went to the small of Ultra's back. The two of them meandered back towards Ultra's caravan. Just as they arrived, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe hopped out with Ultra's carry-on bags, as well as their own.

Sideswipe saluted cheekily upon seeing Ultra and Megatron. "Got all your stuff good to go, Sir!"

Sunstreaker stepped forward as well, with a sloppy salute of his own. "We let Rattrap know you're going to take a sabbatical. Told him you'd be back on your own sweet time, Sir."

Ultra narrowed his optics at the twins, but they simple grinned back at him, completely unabashed.

Megatron, on the other servo, hummed in thought. "I believe I remember the two of you. Split-sparks. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. We shared a common clan, vorns ago."

Sunstreaker nodded, "We're about to share one again. We're bodyguards of the Magnus, here. Where he goes, we go."

"Just think of us are your own personal, on-site future baby-sitters!" Sideswipe added, entirely too cheerful about the announcement.

Megatron did a small double-take, then asked with incredulity, "What do you mean 'baby-sit'? Why would you _sit_ on a _sparkling?"_

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker immediately snorted and turned to each other. "Sorry, it's a city thing...!"

"Yeah, it's so easy to forget how different language is after being in the Cybertronian Commonwealth for so long!" Sideswipe chuckled.

Megatron didn't seem convinced. Nearly imperceptibly, his gaze snapped to Ultra, then to his swollen middle, then one of the groups still loading up the harvest from the wirewolves. Oh no.

Ultra sputtered and brought both servos up - as if holding them aloft would also hold back the not-so-flattering things Megatron was probably imaging city mechs did with their sparklings. Namely, put them in danger. "No, it's not... I swear I was just...!" Ultra crumpled and covered his face with both servos. From between clenched dentae, he grumbled, "Let's just... Go..."

Ultra dragged his servos down his face as Megatron hesitantly steered them back towards the awaiting Galvatron. From the corner of his optics, Ultra saw Sideswipe and Sunstreaker veer towards a small group still getting on their own zaphorses. They spoke shortly to a nomad who nodded and climbed onto a zaphorse with another nomad already in the saddle, leaving his own zaphorse for the twins. They mounted with ease, again showing off their nomadic upbringing. In eerie tandem, they turned to look at Ultra with matching cheshire grins.

Ultra huffed and stalked closer to Galvatron. The zaphorse glared down magnanimously at him, but merely snorted when Megatron helped boost him up onto the beast's saddle. Megatron lifted himself up after, and sat with Ultra almost completely in his lap. He guided Ultra's servos to rest on each side of Galvatron's mighty neck, then took the reigns himself.

"Trot," said the smooth baritone of Megatron's voice, and trot Galvatron did.

With more efficiency than Ultra would have managed on his own, the group began to eat up a good distance. Ultra stared at the east horizon. Polyhex. He hoped the council wouldn't send for him. He hoped he was making the right decision, selfish as it was. He hoped he and Optimus would be safe in the strong, mountainous dunes of the Red Desert...

Suddenly, as if sensing his unease, one of Megatron's servos left the reign and rested on Ultra's hip. Megatron's thumb rubbing soothing circles into the plating. Ultra relaxed back into Megatron. He felt more than heard the resulting chuckle. Ultra's optics met with Megatron's - and the gentle promise within melted him all over again. Ultra gave a content exvent and listened to the busy, yet idle whisper of the sand around him and knew that all would be well...

**Author's Note:**

> dont take this fic too seriously. it's all in good fun, its not gong to go crazy dark, and i just want some kinda fluffy tfa megamags and sparkling optimus! In the tribal/nomad au! Even though it's mechpreg, the emergence isnt going to be graphic, the story is going to stay General cause im not going to be writing steamy stuff, so just chill and enjoy lmao
> 
> ***comments will be moderated until the fic is finished. dont ask for updates or continuations pwease ^3o


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